


Lost and Lonely

by Bluebellstar



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: 1990s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Businessmen, F/F, Future Angst, Gen, Made-Up Backstory, Music, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shameless Appropriation of Bowie Characters, Slow Build, Slow Burn, The Author Regrets Nothing, glacial, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-21 21:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30027990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebellstar/pseuds/Bluebellstar
Summary: Jareth Regent is the Goblin King, one of the best businessmen in New York. He has money, power, fame - everything he could ever have dreamed of. But when impulse has him pursuing a new contract, everything is going to change. Sarah Williams will turn his world upside-down, forcing him to live again. If the secrets buried in his past don't destroy them first.Very, slow burn J/S.
Relationships: Goblins & Jareth (Labyrinth), Jareth & Other(s), Jareth & Sarah Williams, Jareth/Sarah Williams
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of a story I accidentally deleted from FFN and am reposting there too.
> 
> It is still in progress, and something I'm mostly writing for me and just posting in case someone else might like it.
> 
> Very AU, mostly Jareth centric, focusing on his friendships and life with relationship with Sarah thrown in in a sort of realistic fashion.
> 
> Features copious use of Bowie songs and hand-wavey business stuff.
> 
> Probably not realistic but feedback is appreciated.

New York City. The Big Apple. Home to pretention, peasants and a populace more diverse than any. A melting pot of cultures, people, and weirdness. If there was a kind of weirdness going around, New York had been there, done that and got the T-shirt. There was a quiet sense of capability to the city, and no one quite embodied that weird competence so much as New York's hottest success story. They called him the Goblin King; Jareth T. Regent, the king of nightlife. He was an overnight success - owner of three clubs, a record label, a theatre, a restaurant, two hotels, an apartment building and a booming import/export business. His bio was scarce on the details; properly English, born in Brixton, received a scholarship to Eton, then Oxford undergrad and a doctorate in Irish Mythology, Harvard business school (graduated top of his class), no family to speak of, four close friends, and a single trio of closely guarded advisors that could be counted as friends if one really stretched. Brothers Didymus and Ludo Knight were his manager and head of security respectively, and the unfortunate 'Hoggle' Hoggleston was his PA. His success and his otherworldly good looks brought Jareth a lot of attention from the ladies, something he treated with his customary disdain. He was a busy man, he had no time for love nor romance. What he did have time for, was running his kingdom. After all, what King would he be if he let his kingdom fall to ruin? The very notion was the fuel of his bitterest nightmares.

* * *

Jareth, though he loathed the thought of being predictable, followed a loose schedule on his own whim. From Monday though Thursday, he ruled his kingdom from his office overlooking Central Park. From there he oversaw Gruagach Import/Exports, and tried to make sure that the imbecilic cretins he employed didn't reenact the Great Chicken Catastrophe of 1989. When the mood took him, he could be found taking in rehearsals at his theatre, or spotting new talent for his label. But from Monday to Thursday, he could usually be found with his devoted subjects at Gruagach. When the weekend came around, however, businessman Jareth got kicked to the curb, and the Goblin King came out to play. Friday was what Jareth considered his transitional day. For three hours after lunch, he dealt with the mess that was his insane but popular recording artists; the Fire Gang. Every time he met them left him with a headache and the desire to commit a felony. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to regain some semblance of his patience. A long fingered hand combed through his short blonde hair, the other adjusting his once impeccable suit. "Hoggle!" His musical accent pierced the air like glass. Sometimes, he hated his strict rule against having anything stronger than tea during business hours. English oak double doors swung open, Hoggle limping up towards Jareth with his typical ill grace.

"What is it, R- er, your Majesty?" Hoggle demanded, trying and failing to look anything but grumpy. Jareth was mercurial and mischievous, Hoggle was grumpy and curmudgeonly. He didn't even know why he had hired him, Gods knew he could do with some positivity sometimes.

"Yes, Hoggle" Jareth forced his thoughts into order. "I want to see my schedule for the next week, the manifests for Gruagach, and the projected figures for entirety of the Underground for the next three months." Hoggle looked relieved that it was something so easy. Jareth waved him off, and waited until he was by the doors before he continued. "Oh and Hoggle? If those pyromaniac fire gang so much as set foot in any of my clubs again, I'll dismember them, and send you to Oubliette."

Hoggle managed a short nod, gulping once at Jareth's threat. Jareth smiled his rather pointy smile, and turned back to his mountain of paperwork. He never thought he'd thrive on 100+ hour weeks, but then again he never expected to move to New York and found a empire.

A fortifying sip of tea chased his tension away; it was Friday , and Friday's were only the beginning of his weekend. A long, arduous work week was nearly behind him, a few more hours and he could let go of his workaholic nature and give in to that little part of him that always longed to be set free. The creative part of him. He could sing and dance and wear whatever he wanted and not have to worry about maintaining his professional image. He missed his carefree youth more than he had realised, but as Didymus often said; that too shall be vanquished. Pity the same couldn't be said about that damned dog Didymus insisted on taking everywhere. It was bad enough that he had to put up with the chivalrous Knight and his lumbering brother without counting the cowardly fleabag.

A timid knock on his doors signalled another problem he needed to deal with. A King's work was never done.

* * *

Nearby, in an office turned sitting room, Ludo, Hoggle and Didymus sprawled over several royal blue couches. On the table between them was a pile of newspapers, all from a certain day through the years. Didymus glanced at the topmost newspaper, his moustache quivering in agitation. "And you are certain that His Majesty did not appear to have noticed the date?"

Hoggle threw his hands up into the air. "I told yers. I kept that Rat so busy with the Fire Gang and paperwork, he won't haves a chance ter look at the date."

"It Friday" Ludo rumbled cheerfully. "Jareth like Friday."

"It'll be fine if he can forgets it for a while" Hoggle admitted cautiously, watching the walls like they had ears. He shrugged again. "Sides, Ludo's right. His glitteriness is always happy whenever he cans dress up like an oversized fairy."

"Sir Hoggle, you should not speak of our Lord this way" Didymus protested, red as his hair in his agitation.

"I'm his PA. I can talks about that rat however I likes."

"And he can send you to Oubliette without having to give you warning, my friend" Didymus reminded him, reaching out to pour another cup of his overly fragrant green tea. "He is not much like his old self any longer, my Noble companion. He may not sing nor perform like our King used to, but he will-"

"Makes good on his threat, yes I knows" Hoggle sighed unhappily. His shoulders raised and slumped with the force of his sigh. "I gots to go get the Rat his reports, or I really will be stuck in Oubliette." Didymus smiled apologetically, Ludo mournfully watching the far shorter man hobble out of the room.

"Ludo worried."

"Me too, brother" Didymus agreed softly. His blue eyes were distant. "Me too."

* * *

Several hours later, across town, crowds thronged to the popular nightspots. Few were as popular as those of the Underground. The stone exterior of New York's most popular club looked almost normal in the night. The same could not be said for the clubbers that lined up behind the royal blue velvet ropes, eager for their chance to step within the nightclub. Familiar music beckoned the patrons in, promising an evening full of good music, drinks that nobody dared spike, and an experience unlike any other. Waiting in line, a beautiful brunette woman grinned eagerly at her friends, bouncing a little along to the odd bursts of music that came from the doors every time someone entered or exited the club. Finally, they were allowed to enter, footsteps echoing in the strangely silent corridors of the club. The music had stopped (why had the music stopped?), and the very air seemed to be anticipation.

The stage was darkened, the thrum of an electric guitar and beat of the drums setting the pace. A cheer went up from the crowd as a elegant male voice began to sing an old Bowie song. Overhead spotlights came on at a snap of his long fingers, and there he was; the man everyone wanted to see. Short blonde hair artfully messy, Glam rock makeup impeccable, it was his attire that truly set him apart from his businessman persona. Tall, heeled black leather boots tapped to the rhythm, drawing the eye up to tight black breeches that neither disappointed nor left very much to the imagination. A white silk poet's shirt bared a tantalising amount of his pale lightly toned chest, a wicked-looking triangular medallion resting above his sternum. He moved with a dancers elegant, lithe grace; each sway of his thin hips as sexy as they were seductive. And that wasn't even counting his voice; it was David Bowie all over again, just with a far more ethereal quality. Bowie himself couldn't best the performance of his music - not without insulting himself. He raised his riding-crop inspired microphone, barely even sounding breathless as he belted out Rebel, Rebel while strutting around the entire stage.

When the final note faded away, the lights dimmed, a single light remaining to illuminate the singer. "Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen" he greeted, his voice a seductive caress. "My name is Jareth Regent. Welcome to my Labyrinth." With that, he burst into a wild, seductive version of Cat People (Putting Out Fire), his mismatched eyes twinkling from above his sculpted, high cheekbones. A cluster of girls in their mid twenties grinned at the elaborate performance, Jareth seeming to smirk at them before he segued effortlessly the best known of all his songs ; Underground. As he sung the lines 'it hurts like hell', he tore his gaze away from a green eyed brunette, pain filling his voice - a pain he felt deeply but couldn't remember. He shook it off as he immersed himself in his song, remembering just why he'd named his empire Underground; a place for the lost and the lonely, indeed. Jareth brought the song and his set to a close with his usual flair, waving off the complaints of his devoted audience. "I can't sing for you all night, this is a nightclub, not a jazz club." Jareth smiled at the light titter that caused. "So, on that note and against my better judgement, I have the dubious pleasure to introduce Septìmüs, our new in-house DJ."

Septìmüs, a rather imposing-looking chap, raised his chin in reply, and began to play David Bowie's 1979 song DJ without a single hint of irony. Jareth was going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than tea to deal with running his club tonight. On the bright side, at least his clubs played music he could actually tolerate; he had no clue what the youth were doing to music these days.

* * *

Jareth broke away from the usual throng of admirers, a part of him almost glad that Ignus had beckoned to him from the wings. For all intents and purposes, Ignus was his bar manager, and he reported directly to Jareth. Ignus was not as much of a cretin as the majority of the imbeciles that he employed, but he knew Jareth's preference for being kept up to date on his favorite of his clubs. "What is it now, Ignus?" Jareth asked tiredly, despairing of what new depths of idiocy his employees had plumbed.

"Squeek mixed Gürtie a drink, your Majesty" Ignus reported, scuffing the toe of his steel-capped combat boots. Jareth raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Yes, he does that quite regularly, he's my bartender."

"Yes, Your Majesty" Ignus agreed quickly. "Only, he followed Ignatius' instructions on the recipe." Jareth felt a headache burst into life behind his eyes.

"Ignatius" Jareth bit out. "Is henceforth barred from my clubs." Ignus bowed his agreement. "How bad is the damage?"

"Gürtie is unconscious in the backroom, your Majesty" Ignus replied, hastily adding the last at Jareth's glower.

"Ignus" Jareth began pleasantly. "Are you trying to tell me that my bartender roofied my cook?" Ignus bowed his head guiltily.

"Yes, my King. You shall have my resignation by morning." Jareth shook his head firmly.

"I don't want your resignation, Ignus" he sighed, running his hand through his wild hair. "Go, have Quìver take her home. I'll drive myself tonight." Ignus bowed again, guilt still etched on his face. If possible, he looked even guiltier at the thought of forcing Jareth to drive himself home. It was as if his employees forgot that he possessed a drivers license and a large collection of cars he enjoyed driving.

"Your Majesty." Ignus even sounded like he had been handed a death sentence.

"I'll let you in on a managerial secret, Ignus" Jareth smiled, clapping the poor man on the back. "You're not responsible for every imbecilic decision that your underlings make." Jareth spoke from years of experience. "All you can do is repair what you can, and look after those who are affected. Now, go see to Gürtie."

"Yes, my King" Ignus replied, hastening to do as he was bade. Jareth fought down a familiar surge of irritation. One of these days, Jareth was going to murder that Ignatius, and there wouldn't be a court that would convict him for it. Through supreme force of will, Jareth remained calm enough to return to his duties, nodding a greeting as his 'advisors' entered the club under the cover of the music. He donned his black leather gloves and most imposing leather jacket, suiting himself in the armour he needed to get through the night.

Jareth leaned casually by the booth his loyal employees were occupying. Ludo's laughter warmed his heart, the giant of a man always filled with such an innocent light. "How fares the rest of my kingdom? Has it fallen into disrepair in the three hours I've been here?"

"Not yet, my liege" Didymus answered politely. "All goes the way it should." Jareth smiled his pointy smile.

"Excellent. So aside from a minor roofieing incident, all is running smoothly. I'm impressed." Jareth turned to stalk back onto the stage, but paused. There had been something niggling at him all day. "Hoggle, I've changed my mind about the Midsummer Corporation. I want the figures, projections, and the report we complied."

"Yer've noticed something?"

Jareth tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. It's a feeling. I cannot quantify it."

"I'll hold off on all the meetings, and yer'll have the reports on yer desk by Monday morning. Mayhap sooner." Jareth nodded sharply, still troubled though he couldn't place why. He pushed those niggling worries to the side, trusting that his PA would not fail him on this. To be fair, Hoggle never had failed him yet (nor had Ludo or Didymus), but Jareth didn't build an empire the size of Underground by becoming lax. Blind trust only invited betrayal, which would hurt the more when he discovered it. His attention was called away to several politicians Didymus insisted he keep on side. Honestly, he found their company tedious and boring, and found that it taxed his legendarily thin patience. However, sacrifices had to be made for running a successful business, and if glad handing politicians was what it took, Jareth would reluctantly pay that price.

* * *

Several hours later, as the early morning hours came into their own, Septìmüs laid off the heavy dance tunes he'd been requested to play, and returned to a more gentle mix of music Jareth could tolerate. After what felt like an eternity of dealing with the useless representatives from City Hall, he had a splitting headache, and his mercurial mood was fading from mildly irritated to pissed off. Jareth longed for the days when he could enter his club on a Friday night, and have no one recognise him as Jareth Regent Underground King. Life used to be so much simpler in those days. A very reluctant smirk twitched his lips as Jareth watched a group of his Gruagach cretins perform a drunken rendition of the chicken dance in the middle of his floor. One or two of the inebriated imbeciles even waved at him, grinning stupidly and yelling 'Kingy'. Jareth hated that name, but damned if he couldn't make the cretins stop using it. He shook his head, allowing the raucous energy of the club to sink into his body. Someone had to teach those cretins how to dance; who better than the man who provided both their paychecks and the ale they swilled like water? With one of his famous wicked smirks, Jareth caught the microphone Septìmüs threw him, and proceeded to teach his impossibly imbesilic employees a thing or two about dancing. And if one or two happened to go flying during the demonstration, Jareth neither knew nor cared how such a thing could conceivably occur. In fact, one might consider it karma for dancing that badly in the first place. Really, it was almost insulting that they didn't know Jareth had standards for these things.

Unknown to Jareth, Hoggle, Didymus and Ludo were watching over him. Their hearts lightened at seeing a hint of the man they had thought long since lost. There was something in the air tonight, something that should have been both warm and foreboding. Those trio of all people should have remembered that nothing good ever came from forgetting the past. Even less good came from crossing those who did not take well to being crossed. Jareth was one such man, but he was by no means the worst nor the only. Trouble, when it came for Jareth, never came for Jareth alone. Something they had all known well, once upon a time.


	2. Chapter 2

A silver Aston Martin careened around the corner towards an unobtrusive residential building in a rundown part of town. It was that breath of stillness before dawn that allowed the car to pass by unnoticed by the residents. Illuminated by a flash of a streetlight, the plates read 'G0BL1NK1NG'. That brief glance all that was caught before the car disappeared into a private garage. Even if the residents had been aware of the car, they would not have so much as blinked. The area was well compensated for its discretion on the occasional presence of the Goblin King within their midst. In fact, most of Gruagach's employees had lived here at one point or another; many still did. It was not that they had to stay in the area, they just enjoyed the prospect of being able to protect Jareth's privacy. It was a sentiment that Jareth appreciated, not that he would ever admit it. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

* * *

The most low-key of all Jareth's residences was a modestly sized, one room artists studio apartment located in an attic. A raised platform at the back of the flat was home to his bedroom - complete with small single bed, lone armchair and a tiny wardrobe. Six steps down led to the rest of the flat. To the left was a small sitting area and easel (yes, he painted, when the mood took him), while the right contained a fireplace (if he was being generous), a patterned mirror hanging above the mantle covered with owl and goblin figurines. The kitchen was located at the very front, the bathroom shooting off from that.

Bright midday sunshine flooded in through the windows beside/above Jareth's bed, the man worth more than the GDP of a small nation groaning and pulling the blankets over his head. It would be safe to say that weekend-Jareth was not a morning person. In fact, it was his wholehearted belief that morning people (and mornings) should be brutally eviscerated from all existence and thought. Still, he shuffled tiredly down towards the kitchen, barefoot, royal blue silk pyjamas mussed. With the single-minded focus that saw his many endeavours succeed, Jareth made himself a cup of very strong tea, sipping slowly until he felt human enough to whip up some scrambled eggs for breakfast.

The empty plate went into the sink while his mug was filled with the makings of an even stronger brew, left to infuse as he returned to dress for the day. Tempting as it was, he couldn't just lounge around in pyjamas. He cast a disdainful glance at his Goblin King regalia from last night, lip twitching at the state he'd left it in before he collapsed into bed. He clicked his tongue thoughtfully, his mismatched gaze regarding the sorry state of his small wardrobe. One or two suits were stashed protectively at the back, several pairs of jeans and ranks of white shirts hiding them from view. His boots, jeans, shirt and barely tamed hair made him look the perfect combination of Goblin King and off-duty businessman.

Though off-duty, Jareth's work was never done; he had several briefcases worth of business correspondence, paperwork and figures to attend to, and that wasn't even counting the reports from his various subsidiaries that he had long ago relegated to the distant ends of his empire. At least there was peace and quiet here, no employees destroying his property, no morons demanding urgent meetings, no distractions. He pinched the bridge of his nose, opening the first of the blue folders (Gruagach) with a heavy sigh. There was no rest for the wicked. However, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do with his time; Hoggle, Didymus and Ludo had weekends off, and the least Jareth could do was pick up the slack for his own company.

* * *

By the time letters began to swim in front of his vision, Jareth had caught up on all of the important details. He rewarded himself with a quick nap, and awoke to the local Thai restaurant delivering his dinner. While he scarfed down Pad Thai straight from the carton, he had one of his more trustworthy underlings deliver some clothes to his flat. He even managed to get a bit more of his most recent painting completed before his sense of duty began niggling at him to get ready for work. With a bit of luck, Hoggle would have gotten a head start on the Midsummer files. There was still something there that set his teeth on edge. Finely tuned at they were, his instincts were hardly ever wrong. Hoggle was right; if Jareth thought that something was off, there was something off. He didn't make false claims. Quiet classical music played from his stereo, allowing Jareth to relax as he donned his Goblin King look once more. There was a rush he got from this that he didn't get in the boardroom or his office; the Goblin King the counterpoint to Jareth Regent. Both were who he was, but each focused on a different part of his personality. He was who he was, there was no apologising for that.

* * *

Arriving at Labyrinth before opening, Jareth had the chance to check up on his employees. Ignus and Squeek seemed to have got over the unfortunate incident involving drugs, and Gürtie bubbled about like she'd never been roofied in the first place. All in all, everything was well in this corner of his kingdom. Despite himself, Jareth was actually pleased. Hoggle limped in not long after Jareth, an exhausted pallor on his craggy face. "I dids as yer asked, Jareth" he grunted, too exhausted to keep up his usual animosity. "We've cut all ties with Midsummer."

Jareth raised an eyebrow, curious. Hoggle was only authorised to do that if he discovered something that Jareth could not tolerate in a business partner. Jareth took Hoggle aside to his Labyrinth office. "What did you find?"

"Everything's on the level on paper" Hoggle began, taking the drink Jareth passed him. "But yer taught me better than ter take that at face value. So's I snuck round ter meet with one of me allies in the Corp." Hoggle tossed back the finger of best scotch Jareth had given him. "The workers ain't happy, Jareth. They's not treated well."

That was Jareth's golden rule; the happiness of his workers, imbesilic as they were, was paramount. Lines of fury etched on his face, Jareth working quickly to keep his temper under control.

"Good job, Hoggle" he said eventually, tone forced level. "If you could tell Didymus that I've decided to accept running for that contract? Even if we don't get it, which I highly doubt we will, it will show Midsummer that not everyone will roll over and give them what they want."

Hoggle bowed his head solemnly. Jareth and he did not agree on much, but this was something they both did.

"Yessir, your Majesty" Hoggle grunted, wisely not mentioning the scrutiny Jareth's decision was going to subject the company to. Jareth was already well aware, which was why he had initially decided against petitioning for the contract. He had been through that particular trial before, and had sworn that he would not do so again lightly.

Jareth watched as the short man limped back away, a heavy weight settling over his sternum. He rubbed absently under his medallion, mind already reaching for plans to deal with whatever retribution Midsummer chose to throw at them. Jareth was already unpopular enough in certain circles without adding this mess into the equation. The paperwork Hoggle had left was calling to him, but so was the need to be out there, enjoying his 'time off' as the Goblin King.

_"Kingy!"_ Squeek yelled from below. "Fire Gang here!" Jareth passed his hand over his face, mentally reminding himself to send out another memo on appropriate forms of address (of which 'Kingy' was not now nor would ever be acceptable). However, he did so loathe the thought of letting those miserable ingrates run amok in his club. They showed even less respect for him than his employees did. Although, Jareth smiled pointily, if they called him 'Kingy' he would be quite justified in his swift, painful retribution.

* * *

After the troubling revelations about Midsummer, Jareth had been feeling quite worried. In businesses like theirs, revenge was swift and with added interest. But, after forcibly ejecting the Fire Gang from the premises and sending them to play for a week at Oubliette (where, no doubt, their chilly down attitude would receive a cold reception), Jareth was feeling that warm glow that came from being properly villainous for a change. He hadn't had a chance to be properly dastardly and devious for months, and it was just what he needed to get back into the swing of being Goblin King. That was always the more mischievous side to his personality. There was a reason it had taken so long for his dual personalities to be recognised as being one and the same. Jareth preferred them separate. But it seemed as though his daytime business was encroaching more and more into his nighttime one. He had not the patience any more to try and influence it otherwise. As the youth appeared to say these days, Jareth would 'roll with it'.

Rolling with it rolled him right into an impromptu meeting with several City Hall idiots, who came all the way down to Labyrinth just to formally accept Jareth's contention for the contract. The meeting left him with a headache and a renewed hatred for tedious bureaucracy. There was a reason Jareth ruled his kingdom alone; he didn't play well with others. According to Hoggle (and several of his childhood acquaintances), he never had. Jareth would like to contest that, but even as a child he had been something of a loner. By the time he reached Oxford, he was simply perceived as too much of an arrogant arsehole to merit befriending. Not that Jareth had cared; he had had his studies, his music, and he had had never had trouble being alone. If Jareth was the introspective type (which he decidedly was not), then he might realise that that was why he was more comfortable performing on stage and as the lonely head of a business empire than he was socialising in an ordinary fashion. As it was, Jareth was simply the way he was, a fact that enabled him to dominate the stage in his very own club the way he did on weekends.

Unlike the previous night, he made a more obvious entrance.

Overhead lights flashed like lightning, and Jareth appeared. The cheers were gratifying. Jareth held up a hand, quietening the room. "All this silence will never do" he told the patrons chidingly. A thin microphone appeared in his hand, Jareth grinning wickedly. The lights dropped dramatically, creating an almost whimsical atmosphere. And then, Jareth began to sing. "Solemn faced, the village settles down, undetected by the stars, and the hangman plays the mandolin before he goes to sleep. And the last thing on his mind is the Wild Eyed Boy imprisoned..." The song was hauntingly beautiful and always struck a chord deep with Jareth. He always sung it when the day had been unexpectedly taxing. But even Jareth could agree that it wasn't very nightclubbing -worthy. He could do bouncy though, in fact he was unparalleled at bouncy. His energetic rendition of Up The Hill Backwards proved that without a shadow of a doubt. Even Ludo had started dancing to the song; great praise from the shy giant. The energy led him straight from Up The Hill Backwards to Queen Bitch, Jareth feeling the floor shake even from his reinforced stage. This was why he performed; the buzz was like nothing else. At some point, he was drafted from singing to dancing with his overly loyal visiting employees - all of whom seemed to find it difficult to leave his side. They had always been inordinately fond of him, the annoying little cretins. It didn't matter to Jareth; he was in a rare moment of happiness, they could start doing the funky chicken and he wouldn't care. Tonight was a good night, he didn't have many of those, not in the last three decades or so. Any one was infinitely precious.

* * *

Sunday followed much like the Saturday before it. Jareth woke late, worked on paperwork until his eyeballs felt like they were bleeding, then caught a quick nap, ate dinner alone in his residence upstate, then dressed like a seventies glam rocker, and drove back into the City in time for opening. Once at Labyrinth, Jareth saw to the few meetings Didymus had arranged for him (all part and parcel of running a New York City nightclub - his patience could even handle the glad-handing for a while). Then Jareth took to the stage for his usual set, and spent the rest of the night dealing with Squeek's new obsession for glittery day-glow cocktails. By closing time, Jareth was exhausted and seriously considering conducting mandatory mental health examinations for all of his imbecilic staff. To make matters worse, his car had a flat tyre, he'd forgot to put petrol in the bloody thing, and he had to rid himself off the members of the sodding paparazzi he was certain Midsummer had put on his tail. By the time he'd arrived at his flat, the sun was beginning to rise, and Jareth had phoned in to cancel his Monday morning appointments. He was not to be interrupted, on pain of relocation to Oubliette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jareth meets Sarah, and the 'goblins' cause chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: made up business stuff will follow.

New York City residents were an unflappable lot, on the whole. They'd dealt with all the weirdness the world could throw at them and loved their city just the same; they were New Yorkers, after all. Therefore, the sight of a telephone sailing out of an attic window at half past eight in the morning didn't even merit a blink. The handsome blonde man with the spectacular bed-head that appeared after it only merited a second glance because of how goodlooking the man was. If the same people were looking fifteen minutes later, they would not recognise the man; save for the mismatched eyes snapping with fire. In another city, those same people would wonder how on Earth it was safe for a man so obviously pissed off to drive anywhere. But, again, this was New York City, weirder and far more dangerous things happened every day. The silver Aston Martin with the furious driver made it as far as the Alba Building before the blonde stormed out of the car (swearing a blue streak), and disappeared into the sea of suits that was New York in the morning.

* * *

Another day, another tower. Jareth was unimpressed to say the least. He would have thought that with the amount of taxes he paid, that the city government could deal with a business in a more original building. Jareth was a fan of classic architecture , not steel and glass prisons for the soul. The soulless inmates probably had no concept of the mischief and mayhem that pervaded the atmosphere at Gruagach. Pressing the button for floor 29, he heaved a tired sigh. It was a little after nine in the morning, and he had only fallen into bed at a little after dawn. At least he'd kipped at his most unobtrusive residence again last night. The thought of having to commute from his upstate residence at the moment was rather daunting. He had been forced to stop off at his favourite hole-in-the-wall diner for a cup of head-ringingly strong coffee as it was. Fortunately , he had flown rather under the radar; his black suit, pale trenchcoat and fedora making him look rather like a fifties private eye than the business mogul he was. On the whole, it was a far more pleasant scenario than it would have been if he'd worn the other suit shoved in the back of his tiny wardrobe. He had rather enjoyed the anonymity. At the moment, anything was better than being Jareth Regent. That nobody could have been hauled out of bed after only a handful of hours for a far nobler reason than being summoned like some wayward child. It would be fair to say that Jareth was feeling tired and resentful - neither of which would serve him well. No, the summons (he even thought the word with venom) was a calculated move to put him off guard. He had no doubt that the Midsummer representative would be one of those disgustingly cheerful people he despised even when he wasn't running on caffeine, roughly three hours sleep, and the residual buzz from last night at Labyrinth. It wasn't nearly enough to operate on, but he'd made do on less; especially in the beginning. In those days, Jareth would be working days at Gruagach, nights at Labyrinth, and finishing off his degree on weekends. He was lucky if he caught two hours sleep every three days or so. But it had been months since he had pulled a streak like that, his body simply wasn't accustomed to it any longer. However, that by no means implied that Jareth was going to give in over such small discomforts. He had clawed his way out of bloody Brixton for God's sake; a place where the only ways out were death or the nick. That Jareth had found another way spoke volumes about him. He only hoped that there could be a simpler solution to this challenge.

Jareth swept out of the elevator, grandly entering the assigned conference room as was his habit. Alas, his entrance was seen only by a mischievous, brown eyed, bald man in an Armani suit. Jareth narrowed his eyes at the far too cheerful businessman. "Puck" he greeted, voice cold.

"Jareth" Puck nodded back. "You look inconspicuous. How's business?" Jareth ignored the impulse to throw Puck through the doors and into the wall behind. It was an impulse he had a lot around Puck.

"Thriving. We've expanded to London, Paris and Asia, among others, sometimes I forget what country I'm meant to be in." He smirked wickedly . "But enough about me, how's your business going? I heard your expansion plans hit a bit of a snag recently." It was worth getting dragged out of bed after so little sleep just to see that idiotic grin drop for a change. That had been an ambition of Jareth's for many years. As it was, Jareth couldn't enjoy it for very long; the conference room door opened, and Jareth was struck dumb.

Jareth had been through this arbitration process once before, back in the early days of Underground. It had been an unpleasant process all around, but at least Jareth had thought it would give him an idea of what to expect this time. The simple fact of the matter was that Jareth had no clue. He had not expected the professionally dressed brunette woman with those cruel green eyes. Nor was he prepared for the sudden rush of familiarity, heart wrenching pain, or the conflicting right wrongness that the mere woman's presence brought him. That being said, Jareth was not about to show weakness in front of bloody Puck of all people, so he forced his most impassive mask on and reclined in his simple chair as if it was a throne. "Okay" the brunette began briskly, as if sensing the tension in the room. "Since this process is uncomfortable for many, I like to start off with a simple introductory meeting. Which is why you're here this morning." Jareth had to force his eyes not to shut at the gentle cadence of the woman's voice. "My name is Sarah Williams, I am an arbitrator and business consultant for the New York City Department of the Mayor's Office." She smiled slightly, the expression lighting up her eyes. "It will be my job to determine which of your companies is the best suited to winning this contract." Sarah sat back in her chair, calmly waiting for them to continue.

"I am Robin Goodfellow" Puck spoke up charmingly. "I'm the COO of the Midsummer Corporation, and at this point in time it is my job to try my utmost to win this contract for my company."

Sarah nodded, making a note, and then turned her cruel eyes hopefully on Jareth. A part of him protested at the ludicrousness of this, but he capitulated -something he had a feeling he would be doing a lot.

"Jareth Regent" he announced regally. "I am the head of Underground; comprising of more businesses and subsidiaries than is tactful to mention in an introductory meeting." He smiled pointily. "For the purposes of this meeting, the only relevant company I own is Gruagach; an import/export business, with bases throughout here, Europe and Asia. My job is to enhance the profitability of my company, and to serve in the best interests of my employees."

He couldn't resist glaring at Puck as he said his last, knowing their difference of opinion on that front. Sarah inclined her head in agreement with his statement. Puck leaned forward with a mischievous grin. "Where do we proceed from here, Miss Williams?"

Sarah ran a hand through her long hair. "Currently, my team is going through the paperwork you sent through this weekend. Mr Goodfellow, if you could schedule a time this week for routine inspection and interviews, I think that will be all we will require from you today. Ashley will go over the pertinent information with you." Puck offered one last affable grin and bounced out to join a pretty blonde woman. Sarah watched them go, then returned her gaze to Jareth. "Mr Regent, I mean no offense, but you strike me as the kind of man who appreciates the direct truth." Jareth smirked and inclined his head, agreeing to her appraisal. "Then allow me to speak candidly" Sarah said. "I prefer to deal with men like Mr Goodfellow; the people directly responsible for fulfilling the contacts." Jareth raised a hand, stopping Sarah before she could say something she might regret.

"Miss Williams, I assure you, while I am only too happy to delegate the operation of my restaurant, hotels, record company and so on, Gruagach is under my sole control." He fixed her with his mismatched gaze. "Should we win I would be the one implementing the contract. However" Jareth continued, seeing Sarah form her protest. "I am aware that I have other demands upon my time. It is for this very reason that I have a small council of advisors. I would suggest that you meet with them, as it will be they who will attend to the contract in the case of my absence." Sarah's slim hands made a quick note of that.

"And when can you fit us into your schedule, Mr Regent?" Jareth smiled at her fearlessness.

"My schedule is free Monday through Thursday, barring any unforeseen incidents forcing me elsewhere. Friday's I am in my office between eleven and five. Weekends are my own."

"And if you were needed at the weekend?" Sarah queried, a challenge in her eyes. Jareth grimaced at the very notion.

"Then it had better be for a bloody good reason." He watched her make another note, amused that she didn't recognise him as the Goblin King. "I will work on weekends, Miss Williams, and I often do, but there has to be more to life than just work." Jareth smirked wryly. "Or so my advisors insist on telling me." Sarah quirked a smile at his candour. "So, Miss Williams, what more do you need from me?"

"Your contact information, and backups in case we need to contact you urgently and you are unavailable." Once again, Sarah had returned to distant professionalism. Jareth scrawled down his number, Hoggle's and Didymus', and then his lawyer, accountant and PR heads' numbers good measure.

"One of these numbers will reach me eventually" Jareth informed her just as professionally, his aloofness ruined at the violent beeping of his pager. He glanced at the infernal thing and cursed. It read BOG, the code for trouble at Gruagach. Sarah looked concerned. "My apologies, Miss Williams, but I appear to be urgently required back at Gruagach. If there's nothing else?"

"Not at the moment" Sarah said quietly. "I hope it's nothing serious."

"In all probability not" Jareth chuckled dryly. "The last time it was the alarms going off because one of my cretins tried to smuggle a chicken in." He shook his head fondly. "But I can't risk it. The one time I don't turn up, they'll burn down the building." He half bowed in farewell. "Until next we meet, Miss Williams."

"Goodbye, Mr Regent." Jareth was too busy cursing his imbecilic employees to notice Sarah staring after him, her expression bemused as she mouthed the word 'chickens'.

* * *

Smoke rose in gentle spirals, somewhat at odds with the noxious fumes clogging the air. High-pitched chattering and the odd cluck formed the uninspiring soundtrack, not a one of them moving to do anything about the smoke or fumes. A tired sigh echoed in the room, followed by the muffled squeaking of a window being pushed open. Painfully slowly, the room began to clear; one by one, the occupants falling silent in horror. Twenty pairs of eyes saw the leather gloved hand resting on the window frame. They followed it up a black sleeved arm to a thin tie, a pale neck, and an aquiline face incandescent with fury. Mismatched eyes blazed with a terrifying intensity, an almost pleasant smile setting off wild blonde hair and causing many jolts of fear. Twenty audible gulps echoed like cannon fire in the silence, a pointier smile their only reward.

"Hello chaps" the musical voice greeted pleasantly, teeth glinting in a dangerous smile. Twenty pairs of feet shuffled away as subtly as they could (which is to say, not very). Jareth laughed cruelly, the gigantic redheaded Ludo blocking their only exit. Jareth strolled forward, patent leather loafers creaking. "Now, what have we here?"

"Erm, nothing?" Gengis offered hopefully from the back.

"Nothing?" Jareth repeated lightly. "Nothing? Nothing tra-la-la?" His eyes sparkled, though that didn't mean anything good for his twenty employees. "Then, perhaps you might like to tell me, Gengis, why you fine fellows are all here in the eleventh floor copy room? Hmm?"

"Chickens" Ludo rumbled helpfully, Jareth inclining his head to his Security Chief.

"Quite" he agreed softly. "And why are there chickens?"

"Chickens good?" Fürgy smiled brightly, Jareth pinning her with a sharp glare.

"I see" he replied calmly. "And chickens are therefore not on the top of my banned list?"

"They aren't?" Gengis cheered. "Yay!"

Jareth closed his eyes, fighting off a sudden and violent surge of anger. He counted to ten in English, then Gaelic, then in several of the other languages he knew, and kept drawing deep breaths in through his nose.

"Uh-oh" Ludo mourned sadly, knowing the signs of Jareth about to blow.

"Kingy mad" Squeek realised, hiding himself in the cupboard. Jareth privately thought that Squeek had the right idea; he'd love to be able to hide in a cupboard (or his office) and not have to deal with this idiocy. But, alas, he was King.

"I know you tend to forget your professionalism when I am away" Jareth began as patiently as he could. "But I detest meetings enough without having to leave them early because you miscreants are incapable of following orders!" He ran a gloved hand through his hair, forcing a semblance of calm. "The next time you think it's a good idea to roast s'mores in the middle of the day, take it outside, chaps." Jareth sighed heavily. "I built you the fire pit just for this reason." The newly named twenty most cretinous of his employees had the sense to look ashamed of themselves. Foot watching and shuffling were the preeminent activities for the next few minutes. Jareth enjoyed the rare moments of silence; a new Gruagach record. Jareth was so proud. One day he might even be able to take a vacation without having to come back after one day to rebuild his entire building. He would laugh if that hadn't been the case the last and only time he had tried to take a vacation. Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose, his cretins looking up hopefully. "Back to work, before I bog you all." The cretins cheered madly.

"Kingy back!" Jareth chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he made his way back to his office. The acrid smell of smoke followed him, Jareth making an absent note to change into his spare suit before he tackled the mountain of paperwork he had waiting for him. As Jareth sat down at his desk, he never realised that years old contingency plans were finally coming into motion. The darkest period in Jareth's life was going to come back to haunt him; and there was nothing that his stalwart advisors could do about it. Not this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated.


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